Letters From A Dead Man
by The Half Mad Muggle
Summary: Albus Dumbledore is dead.  But that does not stop the letters from being delivered to his successor.  Albus Dumbledore's terrible story from before his death combines with Severus Snape's terrible story from after Albus' death.  DH.  Canon-compliant.
1. Chapter 1

**Letters from a Dead Man**

_Lots of people have asked me to rewrite The Deathly Hallows from Severus' point of view - which I really wanted to do justice, yet in an original style, too. This idea has actually been bothering me in another form since watching the film; I still believe that Albus had a terrible fight on his hands, and had to make some heart-breaking decisions by himself. _

_For the first time, Albus' story of the war before his death combines with Severus' story of the war after Albus' death - and Severus learns some things about his mentor he could never have imagined._

_Enjoy!_

_~ SS19_

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue:<strong>

He shut the door and leant back against the wood, eyes closed, wishing he could scream a terrible primal wail but unable to make a sound. And when he was finally ready and able to contemplate opening his eyes, he took a deep breath in until it filled his lungs and almost started to hurt. He forced his eyelids apart and raised his head.

The bedroom had not changed. In all the years he had stayed here as a patient or as a friend or as a healer himself, it had never changed. It was constant, a source of comfort and protection and warmth. The wooden dresser and enchanted ornate mirror, terribly ostentatious wardrobe, rich red carpet, haphazard bookshelves and four poster bed. The quilt changed often - but he knew the red and gold bedspread well. It was, after all, his favourite.

This was harder than he had imagined. Walking back through the front door had been almost acceptable because safety was synonymous with the marble walls, despite the evil that was beginning to infiltrate. Sweeping along the corridors with his long strides had been bearable, perhaps because he was able to pretend he did not know the reasons for the glares cast at him from all directions. Entering the empty office had been difficult but he could simply convince himself that the owner was away, on a meeting or an outing or a visit.

But the bedroom. No. He couldn't - he couldn't sleep here - he had never been alone here - it was too private, too intimate - his chest tightened, constricted, suffocated. Tears, white hot, threatened and his stomach churned. He tried to swallow but the lump was back, blocking his throat.

How could he sleep in a dead man's bed?

How could he sleep in his victim's bed?

But he wanted to sleep, so very badly, as he had not done for many, many nights because of the mobilisation of an army unimaginable in nature, the constant fighting to keep his position secure, to protect the fates of those who would kill him in a moment should they have the chance.

And he had always been able to sleep here.

He moved slightly closer to the bed, so he could see the tiny gold dragons among the river of red. At least, on that night, there had been no blood. The Killing Curse stopped the heart. By the time the body had hit the ground, no blood would drip. It had been easy. Painless.

Murder.

He undid his shoelaces with a negligent wave of his hand and kicked his boots off. Tonight - the first night - he would sleep as he was. On top of the covers. There, present, as duty detailled, but not interfering. Tainting. Corrupting.

An envelope lay on the pillow, with the golden tassels. A small, white envelope. Narrow, neat handwriting spelling out a single word.

_Severus._

He picked it up, hands shaking. He slit the seal with one thumb and pulled out the contents. Parchment. A letter. He started to read, despite himself, knowing the author, knowing who the letter was from - making him all the more desperate to devour the words.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Severus,<em>

_It is 1 September, 1991. Today, Harry Potter starts his education at Hogwarts School. I am waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive, so that the Welcome Feast can begin, and thus the new school year. I am not sure what it is about this year, but something seems amiss. Fawkes, especially, seems anxious. How can a phoenix be anxious? Well, he acts a little like you when unsettled - he will not sit still. This is his third attempt to circle the room, which is not easy for a bird of his wing span. I thought, perhaps, he was approaching his burning day for this life, but it seems particularly short. So I must deduce that he is uneasy._

_It is a big day, after all. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived, the hero of the Wizarding World, the boy who defeated Lord Voldemort when he was just a baby. I am, I confess, nervous. He has been gone from the world for so long, and it is clear that he has no awareness of __**who**__ he is. _

_Hagrid will not look at me. When he does, something quite involuntary seems to burn in his eyes - it is almost disappointment. I think he believes I made a mistake, ten years ago next month, by sending Harry to stay with his relatives. How would I have done things differently? He had no other family - his godfather is, by all accounts, a murderer, and Remus is not a suitable guardian. Who was I, after all, to take a boy from his only remaining blood relatives without even a word?_

_I may well be powerful, but I am not all-seeing, and I have never pretended to be. I truly believed the Dursleys would treat Harry well, their own nephew - Petunia, once upon a time, thought the world of her sister as you well know. Yet. Perhaps there is no such thing as family, in these times._

_I wonder which House he will be Sorted into. I am hoping for Gryffindor, of course, but Ravenclaw would also be a fine choice. People will be expecting so much from him - people will treat him differently - even me, because I look at him and I see James and Lily and a boy who has lost so much before he was even able to comprehend what loss meant._

_An orphan._

_I feel paternal toward him, Severus, the same way I do to you. I cannot explain why. He has lost so much._

_I remember you telling me, once upon a time, that I should not feel guilty for what happened on Halloween, 1981. It was not my fault - if it was anyone's fault, it was yours. That is what you told me, in that expressionless and almost dead tone you use when you are emotionally unstable. But it was my fault. I put my trust in the wrong person, as did James and Lily, as did you. I could have done so much more. I should have done so much more. I should feel guilty._

_I need to protect this child, Severus. I feel the darkness returning - anyone perceptive can - the Centaurs have warned me, Seers, Prophets - Fawkes - even you. You too are unsettled, bothered by images in your dreams that you have not seen for years. You do not see fit, yet, to confide in me - but I know it. I have felt it._

_Lord Voldemort is not yet dead, Severus, and the thought that he could return chills me as much as it stops the heart beating inside your very chest. Last time, the destruction was so very great. But if he ever returns to a corporeal body - _

_I look at the horizon, and I see that we will all have to make terrible decisions before the end._

_It is eleven o clock. The Hogwarts Express is leaving Kings Cross and is heading toward us. Harry Potter sits upon that train, perhaps starting to learn of his fame, the fame of a lightning bolt scar upon a smooth forehead. He will meet friends and enemies upon that very train, and will make decisions of who he wants to be, who he wants to become, from those initial meetings._

_I can look out at Hogwarts and know that my teachers are preparing, bustling around the castle - Minerva is checking her syllabus for the second time this morning, Sybil is predicting which students will face misfortune in their first week, Pomona is still looking for that enchanted trowel she lost before the holidays, Filius is choosing music for the school choir._

_You are somewhere in your dungeons, preparing for the arrival of your precious Slytherins, the only students, the only people indeed, who see a different side to you. The paternal side, your own fatherly instinct. Do you know, do you see, how protective you are of them? You guard them jealously. It warms my heart to know that, this time, should Lord Voldemort return...every single Slytherin will have a guardian._

_A protector of their own, to stop them making the same decisions others did. The decision that you made. _

_And Harry Potter arrives today. _

_The world is changing, Severus, and I wonder where these paths will lead us, this time. I may even send up a prayer for protection and guidance - because I am afraid of the darkness that may threaten us once again._

_As for the reason for this letter - it will become clear in time - when this letter is delivered to you._

_When they all are._

_I will need someone to understand, and someone to listen. If this becomes war, once more, I will be forced to play the game that Lord Voldemort challenges me to._

_There will always be sacrifices in war._

_One day, I hope, perhaps, you will understand this._

_Harry Potter arrives at Hogwarts today, and something about this year seems amiss. I am nervous, anxious, unsettled - imitating the emotions of Fawkes. He is the symbol of hope, reborn, Harry Potter._

_I am intrigued as to what to expect._

_Yours, absolutely sincerely,_

_Albus._


	2. Chapter 2

**Letters From A Dead Man**

_I am transfixed with the idea of a human Albus - how he can be emotional, how he does get upset, and all that jazz. He is my second favourite character, after all!_

_~ SS19_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two:<strong>

He would have to face the faculty today. Somehow he would have to summon the strength to look them in the eyes, knowing what sin he had committed, and force himself to be the picture of a model Death-Eater.

He had not slept. Sleeping was a luxury that was hard to find, in these troubled times. He needed to be on constant alert. The bed had been uncomfortable, the room too warm, and in the end he had sat by the wall, attempting to read a book he had read many times before. The letter lay, abandoned, on the bedside table. It only drove home the terrible truth once more, and if he dwelt upon it enough, his chest started to ache.

The faculty. Minerva. Filius. Pomona. Poppy. Hagrid. His once colleagues and friends - now his subordinates - and yet he had done such terrible things, and he knew they would be unable to look at him. If only...if only he could stand before them and tell them the truth, the truth of what had happened, why it needed to happen - but he was condemned to this hell, and had been from the first moment he had thrown himself on his knees before his mentor and captor and begged for forgiveness and pleaded with him to save the life of the woman he loved.

But how could he look at them?

He turned the page in the book, and there was an envelope. The same colour, the same handwriting...

* * *

><p><em>Dear Severus,<em>

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, once more. A child has been petrified._

_I must remember to ask you about it - for you, I think, would know more about it than I. It is after all a Slytherin legend - the Chamber of Secrets. Sealed by Salazar Slytherin himself to hide a monster, that would rid Hogwarts of all those unworthy to stand within our Halls. Unworthy because of blood. I can think of many pure blooded wizards who are unworthy - yet those are the types Salazar would have most wished for._

_I have been pondering something curious, Severus. The writing on the wall states 'Enemies of the Heir, beware'. I assume this is referring to the Heir of Slytherin. Who could that be? No student here is directly related to Salazar Slytherin - so one wonders if it is a metaphorical heir. Someone who believes in what Salazar Slytherin preached. I think, perhaps, you know more then you are letting on. I shall leave you to think things through yourself - I know you will come to me, when you feel the need._

_Until then, I must endure the whisperings that surround me. We have seen much worse terrors, real terrors, and yet - they doubt me._

_My teachers doubt me, Severus. I see it. I see it in all of them - even you, my most trusted - a flicker, at the back of the eyes. A slight hesitation. You nod, but somewhere deep in your mind, a voice is telling you poison - that I am losing my edge._

_I am the most powerful wizard that has ever lived - and I do not make that comment out of false arrogance, for it is fact - no one has dedicated their life to the study of magic in the way I have, and it is only through hard work that results are gained - and yet, still, I am doubted._

_It is so difficult, Severus, to stand before the faculty and know that they do not, and it pains me to write, trust me fully. _

_The Governors. I expect they will be involved if things get out of hand - if a student - no, I cannot let anything harm the students of this school. I have already failed in that respect; it is simply luck, that the child was not killed. I have to protect them._

_That is my responsibility as Headmaster, even if I must do it alone._

_I have been at war, before, Severus - for more years than you have been walking this planet. I have seen what war can do to people. _

_I am called a beacon of hope - people believe I will protect them from the menace of Lord Voldemort, should he choose to rise again. People believe I have the strength to do so. It is very lonely, to be upon such a pedestal, and the price of failure is so very great._

_You have been the closest advisor to two leaders, Severus, two commanders, two Lords - tell me, please, that Voldemort has the same vulnerabilities. Was he paranoid? I imagine he was, Tom, paranoid of everyone and everything - although not you, I notice._

_You and he are so very similar, after all. Two half-bloods, Sorted into Slytherin. When you were sixteen, and stood in my office, glaring at me across the desk, angry and out of control, I saw him. In your eyes. I knew he was tempting you then, and you just needed someone to push you in that direction, which I did. Almost willingly. I did not want to see the truth, then._

_I see the truth now. I should have apologised._

_You and Tom. Outcasts. Outcasts with power and knowledge and intelligence and ambition and cunning - the epitome of Slytherin and its characteristics - and yet, one of you returned. You. After everything I did._

_Who is the Heir of Slytherin? _

_What happens when the war begins once more, and I struggle? What happens when the whispers become statements and the statements become shouts, and no one is willing to trust me? What happens if someone dies, in my name, for me, someone I professed to love, and no one stops to listen?_

_A chess game. That is all this is - why do I have to be the King, the one all must protect, the one who must stand back and send his pawns into battle, despite the fact he loves them, he cares for them - why must I be the one to command my pieces into battle?_

_You would be a worthy Headmaster. Phineas is always reminding me that I should have a Slytherin Headmaster as my successor - though, of course, the role will fall to Minerva because she deserves it, having been my deputy for so many years. Maybe, one day, you will stand before the students and the teachers._

_Only then will you understand._

_I must face them, this afternoon. The faculty. I must tell them that the Chamber has indeed been opened, and that our students are in danger. I will have to accept their stares and their doubts and their whispers, even before the news becomes public knowledge, and the parents will start to write._

_I shall have to just take a deep breath in, and speak, and find a way._

_There is, after all, always a way - if one only remembers to turn on the light._

_Yours, sincerely as always, _

_Albus._

* * *

><p>He read the letter three times. It was peculiar to read these words in Albus' handwriting, words he had never expected from his leader but suspected sometimes were lurking behind those blue eyes. Albus had always seemed so omniscient, so strong, so present, so powerful - yet he would have been vulnerable.<p>

All leaders were vulnerable, and they had their weaknesses, and they had their paranoia.

He knew that, of course, because he was the closest advisor to two leaders.

That was why he was in this situation.

* * *

><p>He stood before the faculty that afternoon, and took in the deep breath and started to speak, despite the glares and the hate and the distrust cast in his direction. Against his chest, in the pocket of his robes, Albus' letter lay - not because he was sentimentally attached to it, but because he could hear, somewhere in the very back of his mind, Albus Dumbledore reading the words to him - and that, in this staffroom, was the only comfort he had.<p> 


End file.
